


Taciturn

by Grimalkin



Series: I got my DNA rewritten at SEP and all I got was decades of gay chicken and this blown up Watchpoint [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Communication Failure, Emotionally Repressed, Gen, Growing Up, Hopeful Ending, Internalized Homophobia, Kinda, Lack of Communication, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Crush, Young Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, i guess?, it's vague, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9545858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimalkin/pseuds/Grimalkin
Summary: If someone asked Jack Morrison what his childhood was like, They would be met with stories of how he loved growing up on his family farm. They’d hear how he loved taking care of the pigs the most, but found the chickens to be temperamental and difficult to deal with, but the chicks were well worth the trouble. They would hear how Paisley Morrison, A wisp of a woman that was more vivacious than a firecracker, who ran a tight ship but was unerringly kind. She taught Jack how to cook, and clean, and be self-sufficient, long before the army had the chance to, always encouraging him in his youth. They would hear about Andrew Morrison, a quiet and introverted man for the most part, but noble all the same in the way he went about his life, never complaining no matter what hardships he faced, and Jack would claim that he was the origin of his stubbornness. Even as he had to do the lion’s share of farm work until Jack had gotten older, he never once complained, and instilled in Jack a strong sense of duty. All of these things were absolutely true.However, if someone asked him if he was happy growing up, he’d hesitate to taste the bitter, ashen flavor of a lie that would appear on his lips.





	

If someone asked Jack Morrison what his childhood was like, They would be met with stories of how he loved growing up on his family farm. They’d hear how he loved taking care of the pigs the most, but found the chickens to be temperamental and difficult to deal with, but the chicks were well worth the trouble. They would hear how Paisley Morrison, A wisp of a woman that was more vivacious than a firecracker, who ran a tight ship but was unerringly kind. She taught Jack how to cook, and clean, and be self-sufficient, long before the army had the chance to, always encouraging him in his youth. They would hear about Andrew Morrison, a quiet and introverted man for the most part, but noble all the same in the way he went about his life, never complaining no matter what hardships he faced, and Jack would claim that he was the origin of his stubbornness. Even as he had to do the lion’s share of farm work until Jack had gotten older, he never once complained, and instilled in Jack a strong sense of duty. All of these things were absolutely true.

However, if someone asked him if he was _happy_ growing up, he’d hesitate to taste the bitter, ashen flavor of a lie that would appear on his lips.

 

\------------

 

“Jack, Honey, eat your carrot sticks if you want to get that tooth out, wiggling it won’t do anything.” Paisley called over her shoulder. A halo of light from the early November sunsets cast through the window around her head, temporarily restoring her graying hair to the vibrant sun-kissed color it had once been.

“Carrots are gross” Jack sighed in reply, swinging his legs back and forth as they dangled from his chair. He continued to wiggle his remaining front tooth with his tongue. ‘They’re only good when you cook ‘em, Mama.”

“If I cooked them, then they couldn’t get your tooth out.” she hummed a small tune, the chopping of vegetables slowly falling into the rhythm. “You want to see the tooth fairy, don’t you?”

Jack made a whining noise, but picked up a carrot stick and bit into it. His loose tooth dug into his gums, but did not pop loose and he glared at the offending carrot stick, the slightly bitter flavor filling his mouth, wishing he could just spit it out, but he had been reprimanded for doing so enough times to know better by now.

A creak from the porch followed by the rattling of a screen door had Jack out of his seat, quick as a fox in a hen house.

“Papa!” Jack exclaimed, running to the man who had just come to the door. Andrew Morrison was a tall man, his hair already gone completely grey and starting to thin, but his body was still in top shape for a man of 53 from all the work he did, day in and day out. His skin was tanned like leather, with harsh wrinkles having formed, making his expression seem unusually severe, but at the sight of his son, his face brightened in surprise.

“Jackaboy!” He exclaimed trying to match his son’s tone, his voice rough like rain on a tin roof, “What’s got you home so early? You’ve still got daylight to burn.”

“Joey started feeling sick, so Ms. Hennessy said I should go home before I got sick too!”

“Ahh.” Andrew ruffled Jack’s hair, and Jack squirmed away, allowing for Andrew to walk into the kitchen.

“Andrew,” Jack heard his mother from the kitchen.

“Paise.” He grunted back.

Jack wondered idly why he never saw his parents being gross like Mr. and Ms. Hennessy. Those two were always hugging and kissing, making Joey and him make faces. Something about it made his chest tickle, and he was about to go in and ask, but then he remembered the carrots would be waiting for him at the table if he went back to the kitchen.

Instead, he took his escape and ran upstairs to his room, forgetting the matter entirely by the time he was called back down for dinner, carrots still waiting for him.

 

\------------

 

Jack pulled his legs an inch closer to his body as his Father’s voice echoed up the stairwell. He wished he could just sink into his bed and stay there.

His eyes already felt burnt and heavy in the corners from crying. He’d never gotten into this much trouble before, and the unfairness of it all stung even worse than the fact he was getting punished. He sniffed loudly, rubbing at his eyes vigorously until they stung him even harder, like a quiet demand to stop.

He really shouldn’t be acting like such a crybaby. It’s not like he’d gotten hurt. There wasn’t any reason for him to be crying at this point, and honestly he felt exhausted. His mother snapped something he couldn’t quite make out, but he heard his father’s name somewhere in there, as well as the word school.

It was hardly the first time his parents fought, though that’s not to say that they fought constantly. There were disagreements, regular ones, but from a few questioned asked quietly, subtly to his friends, he reasoned they didn’t fight any more in particular than other parents did. But they always fought the hardest, sounded the most put off, when they were fighting about _him_. There was a bitterness to their tone then, that he didn’t find in the usual disagreements about who should do what and when and why.

He may have only been eleven, but Jack could tell that something was fundamentally _wrong_ with his parent’s Marriage, and he just felt like every time he got in trouble, he made it _worse_. The word Divorce had never been used in his household unless it was talking about someone else, but he felt like he was counting down the days until it became the word to describe themselves.

And he was terrified that he would be the cause it.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, curled up on his bed, rummaging through the negative feelings he could never find the words needed to pull out from his mouth, either out of lack of ability or because bringing it up would only make it more real. Eventually though, there was a soft knock on his door, rhythmic and reproachful. His mother.

“Jack, sweetie,” Her voice had leveled now, no longer the snappish tone she had taken with his father not long ago. “I’m coming in.”

The door creaked open, and  his mother slid in through the smallest crack before shutting the door behind her. In the past year, his mother had started to dye her hair to remove the greys she had accumulated from 55 years of life. Though, it was never quite the right color it used to be, the same shade of gold Jack shared, instead it felt more pale and ghostly somehow, but Jack never said a word about it. Jack uncurled from his hunched position, lowering his head.

He felt her weight settle on the bed beside him, and soon after, a gentle hand rubbing small circles into his back. Jack’s frown only deepened at the gesture, almost wishing she’d just yell at him. He certainly felt like he deserved it for making the household so tense.

“We’re not angry with you Jack,” She started slowly, “If anything, we’re angry at the school for making such a fuss over this.”

“You and Pa sounded angry,” Jack mumbled, his own voice sounding crackly on his ears, his mouth feeling heavy and dry.

“Yes well…” She sighed, “We’re not exactly happy that you got into a fight, no matter the reason.”

Self righteousness that had been simmering down to a low flame flared up in his chest again and he snapped his head up to look at her.

“He made fun of Joey’s--!”

“Jack.” His mother gave him a hard stare, and he deflated, unwilling to make a bigger fuss than he’d already caused. Her look softened, and she smiled. “I know you were trying to help Joey, but even though what Danny said was utterly inappropriate, we don’t hurt others just because they say something awful, and believe me, what Danny said was beyond awful.

“We’re honestly more mad that your punishment was so harsh given the circumstances. To make fun of someone’s mother when they had just--” She shook her head, “But, the school is standing firm on your suspension. Your father damn near took the truck down to the principal’s office to give him a piece of his mind.”

“He did?”

“What did you think the yelling was about?” She asked, a small, soft smile teasing at her lips. “I had to convince him not to go, and he’s so stubborn he can’t hear anything but yelling once he gets all worked up.”

Jack stared at his mother, mouth dropping open just a bit. It didn’t _seem_ like a lie, but an ugly, creeping sensation in his gut told him otherwise. That they _had_ to be arguing about him directly, and he couldn’t shake the feeling.

“But I…” Jack took a deep breath, “I didn’t even beat ‘em up so hard. I-I was just-- so mad, I…”

“I know,” She soothed, a hand stroking back a lock of hair that had fallen into his face. “It’s only natural you’d get upset. Joey is your friend after all, and he’s still trying to process his mother’s death. He’s vulnerable right now. But you can’t go fighting everyone that hurts someone you care about, Jackie. If there’s fighting to be had, then that means somewhere along the way, someone messed up their words or failed to walk away when they should have. It should never be the first answer to your problems.”

The self-righteousness in his gut flared up just slightly in defiance. “He was asking for it.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean you should have done it. I’m a little disappointed that you did.”

His eyes started to well up again. He found himself crossing his arms tightly to his chest.

“However, I know your heart was in the right place, so I can’t be too disappointed with you.” She pulled him into a soft, comforting hug, Jack hesitated slightly, before halfheartedly reciprocating. “Just use your words next time sweetie, or if you can’t do that, just walk away. It’s not worth the trouble.”

Jack hiccuped, and nodded.

 

\-----------

 

It was still too early to get up, even for a kid who worked on a farm.

Technically, he didn’t work on his family farm as much as he just did chores. Feed the pigs, collect eggs from the chicken coop, repairs. Tough recently he had begun to volunteer to do more when he had the chance to. It made his parents happy, and made everything run a heck of a lot smoother when he helped out on the farm, so he tried to take as much of the burden off his parents as he could while still having the time to maintain his grades.

It seemed to make his parents less inclined to argue, at least. Made him feel like he wasn’t straining their relationship as much when he did.

But right now, it was too dark for him to even start doing anything, since it was Saturday in the middle of the summer and all, he had no reason to be up this late. Still half asleep, he tossed in his bed, swallowing, only to be met with the rough feeling of a dry throat, he squeezed his eyes shut a little harder, feeling jolted awake.

He needed a glass of water.

Stumbling out of bed, still bleary eyed, he trounced down the hallway and the stairs, walking towards the kitchen on automatic, until the reflected light of the television from the den caught his eye, and he squinted.

_Pa._

Glass of water forgotten, he quietly crept into the den, hearing the soft sound of some late night television show, where he could just make out the top of his father’s balding head reflecting the television. He wasn’t sure if he was sleeping at first, but then he hear the creak of the chair, and saw a hand move down from the side of the couch where a beer was sitting.

“Pa?” He asked, voice still rough with sleep, like it was _actually_ a question.

The man turned to face Jack. His new glasses each reflecting a small slice of the television screen as he stared at his son, looking not particularly surprised.

“Ah, Jack, I’m sorry, did I wake you?” He asked, hand grabbing the beer and bringing it to his lips.

“Did you just get home?” Jack took a shuffling step forward, nearly tripping on a rug in the process. “It’s like… 2 am.”

“About thirty minutes ago.” He commented blandly, turning back to the television. Jack just stared. “Was out with the fellas.”

Jack didn’t have a response for that. He couldn’t even roll his eyes. He wanted to believe it was true, he honestly, really did, but his father had been gone for over eight hours, even missed dinner. Did he really expect Jack to just accept such a weak excuse and leave it as it was? Jack was fourteen, and he _wasn’t_ an idiot.

But, true to form, he did just exactly that. Now wasn’t the time or place to accuse his father of having an affair. Just like it wasn’t the time and place yesterday, and the day before that, or the week before that, or the month before that.

Jack felt disappointed in himself more than he could feel any disappointment at his father, for not only believing that his dad was being unfaithful, but for being unable to even address it like a man. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it when he knew if he did, he could just cause the dam to burst and break his family apart. Not after he had been working so hard to keep his parents as happy as possible, and not when they had spent so many years together to raise him when  they probably would have been happier apart.

It was all starting to feel like he was perpetuating a lie, and Jack, contrary to popular belief, seemed to have a knack for lying.

 “Sit down,” Jack’s Father said, gesturing to the couch with his beer, “If you’re already up, no sense in trying to get some winks before sunrise myself. We can afford to have a lazy Saturday, for once, ‘specially with all the extra work you’ve been puttin' in lately.”

Jack directed a funny look at the back of his father’s head, but quickly found himself obeying his father’s request. He kept his eyes on the television, more staring than watching, but not quite able to look his father in the eye right now.

“You had your first beer yet?” The older man asked, taking a swig.

“Uh,” Jack stammered, caught off guard and still a little groggy. “No...”

Jack’s Father snorted. “No need to _lie_ about it. I’d had my first beer before I turned fourteen, so I’d say you’d probably got me beat in being a good egg. Just don’t go crazy with it.”

Jack stared at his feet. He had known that. His father had always been very casual about alcohol, calling it only as big of a demon as you made of it. It was a safe lie, one that would lead to no punishment or suspicion in the future, so he was sure to make it unconvincing.

That was the key to lying, he’d found. Make it seem like you suck at it on the small stuff that doesn’t really matter, or anything that could be proven, that way they won’t question the lies that you hold close to your chest.

“Alright, Pa.”

Silence lapsed between them. Only the chatter of the television, punctuated by the sound of his father taking a sip of beer every so many minutes. He felt a little like he was trapped on the couch. Frankly, he didn’t want to be in the same room as his father while his suspicions were front and center of his mind. He could do it no problem on days where they were shoved neatly into a corner of his mind where he never intentionally went, but now his father’s presence felt oppressive, like the lie had suddenly possessed the man and turned him into something less than what his father was.

“Got any girls you have your eye on?” His father asked when a particularly romantic scene had popped up on the show that Jack had been halfheartedly begun to pay attention to.

He was quiet for 6 heartbeats. Seemingly natural hesitation.

“Well, uh…” Jack rubbed the nape of his neck. “Not really.”

“Still down ever since you an’ Kate broke up?”

“Kinda, I guess.” Jack ignored the stinging pang of guilt in his chest and instead channeled it into a deflated grouse.

“First love’s the hardest.” He tipped his beer in Jack’s direction. “Trust me, it’ll pass.”

“Whatever.” Jack sighed, not needing to fake the tone to convey that the subject made him feel awkward, though it was for a completely different reason.

He did, really feel bad about Kate. They had been dating for over 7 months, and during that time, he had learned she was sweet, and kind, and wanted to grow up and move to a big city where she could run an art studio. She was incredibly talented, having drawn beautiful portraits of Jack several times while they were dating on rainy days. He honestly hoped that with time, that he could become her friend again, but a part of him felt like if he did that he might just end up leading her on, and she had already suffered enough of that on his selfish behalf.

In the seven months of dating her, he had never, not once, felt like he was attracted to her. He could say with confidence, she was pretty, but to him, it’s like there was something missing. And he had tried, he had tried so hard to feel it, but it had never come, and the kisses had only ever felt awkward and unnecessary between them.

He knew this of course, because he didn’t need to try even remotely in order to feel a twisting in his gut whenever he caught sight of Axton or Connor or Percy shirtless in the locker room. In fact he had tried many, many times to force the feeling down until it stopped to no avail.

He really, really didn’t want to believe that this was happening to him.

He wished he could talk about it, with someone, anyone. Try to sort out the incredibly confused feelings that felt like they were _rotting_ inside his body day by day.

But instead, that too, became a lie he was too good at perpetuating. Another thing that was easier, safer, to pretend didn’t exist. He could imagine all too easily how quickly that the dam could burst if his parents found out. Maybe with a little luck, he thought, it would just pass.

“It’ll pass.” His father echoed.

Jack could only hope.

 

\--------------

 

Jack was standing at the door to Joey’s house. He had watched his parents leave not too long ago. So they would be alone. Together.

His finger hovered on the doorbell. Had been hovering. For the past ten or so minutes.

His mind lingered on the somewhat hazy memories of the two of them after the huge party the Hockey team had thrown together to commemorate their State Championship victory. It was easily the wildest party that he’d ever been at, and by the end of it he had been slightly drunk and Joey slightly more so.

He recalled how Joey had gotten the bright idea to stargaze, and Jack was too drunk to argue.

He didn’t quite remember how they had gotten from lying down in the grass, laughing and _living_ , for once feeling like he was on top of the world, to tongue deep in each-other’s mouth. The tight but pleasant feeling in his chest told him he didn’t particularly care how they had gotten there either.

He had spent all of yesterday spending all of his brainpower that wasn’t trying to hammer it’s way out of his skull with the first true-blue hangover, trying to verify that yes, that did indeed happen, and trying to relive the experience in his head.

The way Joey’s teeth had scraped on his lips. The sloppy, lazy way his tongue had moved in his mouth. The smell of alcohol on the other’s breath. The languid, burning feeling, like molten lead was being poured down his throat and pooled in his stomach, never quite burning, but hot and heavy all the same. The intermittent drunken giggles that broke up the contact in a way Jack couldn’t bring himself to care.

He could feel his cheeks turn up a shade of red as the memories pulled back in his head, and the little lovestruck curl to the corner of his mouth that crept upwards every second. He had never quite thought of Joey in that way before. To him, he’d always just been a longtime friend and neighbor. But after reflecting on what had happened, he had started to think of him in a different light.

He had bulked out a lot ever since he had joined Jack on the varsity team, no longer the stringy, awkward beanpole who shot up early in middle school. His freckles coated every inch of his body, and the dimples that showed up like mischievous co-conspirators whenever he smiled. His dusky red hair was wild and curly, the type Jack wished he could run his hands through, just a bit. The way his eyes twinkled in the right light.

He absolutely wasn’t complaining.

Maybe it was ridiculous of him to get so worked up about it, but the festering feeling of _rot_ in his gut that had plagued him intermittently since middle school, while not gone, had felt like it had started to recede. Like whatever it was that had rotten away inside him had started knit itself back together and thrive. It felt better than winning any state championship could ever make him feel, and never did he even consider that it would ever feel like this. It had simply become another background hum to his life.

A small smile formed on his lips, and before he realized it, he had pressed the doorbell, and Joey was standing before him, looking slightly surprised.

“Joey I-” “Jack I-” They both said, and stopped short. Jack laughed lightly, ducking his head, Joey scratched the back of his neck, pulling his shoulders up.

“You first,” Jack said, pushing down the light feeling in his chest just slightly as he gestured to his friend.

Joey nodded and sighed sharply, wetting his lips. Jack found the action cute.

“Look, Jack, I’m sorry.” Joey said, visibly deflating. Jack blinked. “I was drunk, and you were drunk, and I thought that it’d be funny, since the two of us like, ya know, haven’t had a girl in a long time, with you every since that whole pregnancy scare with Alice, and me with Monique, and I just-- God.”

Jack stared and his eyes widened slightly. For a moment it had started to feel like he had lost his footing.

“I guess I was just getting too into the joke or something like that, and like, I know you were laughing too, but then yesterday I realized how fucked up it was to start making out with you while we were both drunk and…” He shrugged, looking away, jack took the chance to swallow a lump that had appeared in his throat. “I just hope that this doesn’t make things awkward between us you know? Like, you’re my bud, and I don’t wanna make you think I’m all into you and make things weird between us you know? I’m _really_ sorry man, I was out of my head.”

Jack felt like a sphere of glass had just shattered inside him, right where the rotten feeling was coming from. He looked into Joey’s eyes and saw nothing but sincerity. In an instant he felt the world fall out of focus around him until everything was hazy and fuzzy feeling, buzzing like static in the back of his head.

“Oh.” He said simply, expression mercifully blank instead of hurt. Quick on his feet, he curled his mouth into an easy smile, and sighed. “Thank god. I was just about to say the same shit.”

Joey sighed, relief apparent in his entire body, nodding. Jack suddenly found his friend’s tendency to nod before speaking grating.

“Phew. Glad that’s sorted out.” Joey spoke with a sense of finality, and Jack could feel his fingers curl into fists. A hand was offered out to Jack in a fist. “Buds?”

Staring at the first before directing his eyes to stare in the general area of Joey’s eyes, Jack bumped the fist with his own. “Always.”

Jack felt like he had a good idea of what drowning felt like, in that moment, but he did as he always did.

Shut his mouth and kept up the lie.

 

\----------------

 

Jack stared out the window of the plane as the patchwork fields of Indiana started to loose definition and become more akin to a checkerboard of grain.

Ever since that day with Joey, he felt like he had been stuck on Autopilot and couldn’t turn it off. Every day was a hazy blur just like the memories of the shared kiss that had meant the world to him for the short time before it had a collision with reality and shattered into fragments of an impossible fantasy.

He hadn’t even realized that he had enlisted in early June, ten days after he turned 18, until he had arrived back home with his papers signed and found himself argument with his parents. He had only managed to de-escalate it by claiming his idea was to make use of the programs the army had offered to give him a free ride to a slightly nicer college than the community college he had originally planned to attend. His parents certainly weren’t _happy_ , but the contract of service was binding and finalized. They had to accept his lie, and a part of him felt disturbingly satisfied about that.

In truth, the reason was far more abstract, even to Jack. He had still been working on autopilot when he had gone to the Bloomington recruitment office, and honestly it felt like a distant memory he had no part in. More like he had been overridden by survival instinct than made actual choice, but it became clear to him why soon after.

He had to get away from Indiana. From home.

He needed to get away from the lies that he had cloaked himself in that had once made him feel safe, but now threatened to strangle every last bit of life out of him bit by bit. If he stayed in Indiana, with his family that pretended not to be broken, with the community that thought he was someone who he wasn’t, with the neighbor who didn’t think of him as anything but a friend, and with the carefully crafted image of the selfless golden boy he had built for himself, he would be dead in a year.

He was running away. He didn’t attempt to delude himself in saying he joined the army for any reason other than exactly that. Lying to himself was something he had tried for so long, and it just _didn’t work anymore_. The truth was he was just a coward who couldn’t help but lie his way through life with a smile.

He didn’t expect to get much of anything out of the army. But it would give him time, and good god, as much as he loved the farm, and he loved his parents, he _needed_ time.

In a way, he was still playing the same game. Hoping for something to change without actually _doing_ anything himself other than putting it off, but for now, he was alright with that. Baby steps.

He turned away from the window, shoving the memories back into the broom closet of his mind.

He couldn’t deny the brand new and incredibly potent sense of relief that was filling his lungs right now. Even if it was colored around the edges with a bit of guilt, he still felt better than he had felt in months. He sighed, and it was like a breath he’d been holding for years found it’s way out of him.

He wouldn’t quite call it hope. But he was an adult, he was going to a brand new place filled with people who didn’t know him from a hole in the ground. It would give him a chance to breathe. Figure out the whole mess he had made of his life. Maybe make a new friend or two that didn’t hold him to a gold standard he had built for himself.

That was something he could hold onto, for now at least.

“Alright,” He said under his breath, mostly to himself, “Fresh start.”

 

\-------------------------

 

And after that moment’s hesitation, he would say in a tone almost anyone would call nostalgic and fond, yes, he had a perfectly happy, healthy childhood.

  
He always did have a knack for lying.

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanons. Headcanons everywhere.
> 
> Basically, I think Jack has a problem where he has always been trying to run away from the emotionally precarious situations in his life (including almost everything Regarding Gabe) because he has trouble with emotional confrontation out of a fear that confronting the issue will only manage to make a bigger problem/strain things further, so he kinda just becomes frozen. Kinda works as a counterbalance to Reaper's comment about how he's always rushing in while Soldier: 76 still manages to win most blatantly emotionally constipated man alive.
> 
> Miiiiight wind up making a series? Idk. I have at least 1 other fic based around the same headcanons in the works atm, so.


End file.
